


what objects represent

by lachme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amulet Fic, Angst, Gen, Post Season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-08
Updated: 2011-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-24 10:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachme/pseuds/lachme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>what happened to the amulet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what objects represent

It wasn’t an awkward silence. It was just life. The Impala rolled smoothly along, the road flowing behind her like a dark eternal river. Dean sat in the driver’s seat steering with his left hand, his arm resting lazily on the car door. His right hand rested on his thigh, fingers occasionally drumming along to some inner music. Sam busied himself with his laptop, checking emails, running searches, playing the occasional online puzzle game when he got bored. They hadn't spoken for hours. Something was up with Dean, Sam could tell, but trying to drag information out of his stubborn brother when he didn’t feel like “sharing” was usually an exercise in frustration for them both. Sam decided Dean would talk when he was ready. Dean was ready at 4:17 that afternoon.

 

“There’s been something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Sammy.”

 

Sam stopped typing, registered a brief inward grumble (‘it’s **Sam**!’) and glanced at Dean. 'Here it comes,' he thought.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. I just wanted to know—are you ever gonna give me my necklace back?”

 

Sam gasped in surprise, and then tried to cover it with a coughing fit, but Dean wasn't buying it. He saw the dismay and guilt working across Sam's face and rolled his eyes, though with more affection than exasperation.

 

“Dude, I **know** you took it out of the trash. I **know** you.”

 

Sam sat silently, thinking about the day they had returned from Heaven.  He had hardly known what to say to Dean back on earth. Viewing his own heaven through Dean’s eyes was like a slap in the face; his own selfishness and careless disregard of his brother had been exposed, and Sam was deeply ashamed. But as horrible as that was, that didn’t hold a candle to what Sam felt when he saw Dean drop his beloved amulet into the garbage. Dean may have been rejecting God with that gesture, but it didn't feel that way to Sam. It was the amulet Sam had given him, and in that moment, Sam thought he’d have preferred the pain of getting shot in the chest again.

 

But of course, Dean was right. That morning, while Dean loaded his bags in the trunk, Sam had hastily fished through the empty beer cans and burrito wrappers and retrieved the necklace. As he slipped it into his pocket, he made a solemn promise to himself that someday, he would earn Dean’s trust again. When that day came, Dean would regret throwing the amulet away . . . and Sam would then be able to restore it to its rightful owner.

 

Sam had rediscovered the amulet not long after Death had returned his soul. His soul-less self had stashed it at Bobby’s in the bottom of an old duffel of stained clothing and ragged paperbacks, and Sam had stumbled across it one afternoon while looking for reading material. As he twisted the leather cord between his fingers, his first impulse was to call out to Dean, but he hesitated, thinking of all the things that had happened since he'd last held it, and all of the things he had done. Then he slipped the necklace into his jacket pocket. He frequently thought about the necklace, but he kept putting off returning it. Having the necklace with him was like having Dean there; when he found himself getting upset, just holding it in his hand calmed and centered him. Sam told himself he was waiting because he still had to earn Dean’s trust before he attempted to mend that particular fence . . . he didn't admit to himself that a deeper part of him was afraid Dean wouldn’t want the amulet back at all. When Dean asked for it, he could hardly believe he wasn't hallucinating.

 

Dean cleared his throat nervously. He’d expected Sam to come clean right away, and found his continued silence a little unnerving. Was Sam going to deny it?

 

“C’mon, Sam, it had to be you,” he insisted. “I went back the next day and tore that room apart. I talked to every maid, desk clerk, and hooker in the joint. I sifted through two god-damned dumpsters-- and we're talking two filthy, fucking **roach motel** dumpsters, man! Disgusting!”

 

Dean reached out and gave Sam a companionable shove on the arm while Sam stared sightlessly down at his laptop, absorbing Dean’s words. A smile hovered around the corners of his mouth, waiting to be born.

 

“I searched every inch of that shithole, and it wasn’t there, so you had to have taken it. Q.E.D., Sherlock.”

 

Sam’s eyebrows flicked up in surprise. “Q.E.D.?”

 

Dean smirked. “What can I say- the math tutor at Franklin High was frickin' hot." He cocked an eyebrow in Sam's direction. "So?”

 

Sam reached hesitantly into his jeans pocket and pulled out the necklace. He clutched the leather cord tightly, letting the amulet dangle, and the small bronze face glowed dully in the afternoon sun.

 

“Are you sure you want it back?” Sam whispered.

 

“Two motel dumpsters, dude. Two.” Dean reminded him as he reached for the necklace. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

 

Without another word, Sam handed the necklace over. As Dean slid the leather cord over his head and settled the amulet against his chest, Sam felt an enormous wave of relief wash through him, almost making him dizzy. He wasn’t sure exactly what was happening . . . but it felt like forgiveness.

 

Dean rolled the amulet between his fingers, the weight of it familiar and comforting. Having the necklace back was like finding a piece of himself that he thought he had lost forever; it gave him hope for the future. The amulet, like his freckles and his green eyes, was a part of who he was; if it could be restored, maybe he and Sam could find the other lost pieces of themselves. Maybe someday they could each be whole again.

 

The lowering sun had gotten really bright, because it was making Dean’s eyes water; he glanced at his brother while he wiped the moisture away.

 

“Thank you, Sammy,” he said softly, and then rolled his eyes once more.

“I mean, **Sam**.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed my writing, check out my first novel!
> 
> https://www.amazon.com/Becoming-Unbroken-Laura-Munger-ebook/dp/B008OKVXR2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1468481607&sr=8-1&keywords=becoming+unbroken


End file.
